


Stay with Me, Sway(ze) With Me

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Dirty Dancing, Dreaming, M/M, Movie Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 15:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11649915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: Eliot is pining, Quentin is clueless, and only the power and magic of Patrick Swayze and Dirty Dancing can bring them together.





	Stay with Me, Sway(ze) With Me

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been wanting to write this forever, and thanks to The Welters Challenge, Week 5, (“ships”) I finally have my forum! I don’t own The Magicians or Dirty Dancing, this is just for fun. Dedicated to the memory of Patrick Swayze, whose movies were always a source of inspiration. We miss you. Title inspired by “Sway,” by Dean Martin. Comment and kudos are magic. Enjoy!

“Say what you want about _Ghost_ , I think _Next of Kin_ has its merits!”

 

Margo rolled her eyes at Eliot’s statement as he pushed a button on the Blu-ray player and the carousel ejected a disc. She, Eliot, and Quentin sat on the couch together in the Physical Kids cottage, half-empty bowls of popcorn and empty wine glasses littering the table in front of them. Eliot picked up another movie sleeve.

 

“And now, for the coup de grace . . . _Dirty Dancing_!”

 

“ _Dirty Dancing_?” Quentin asked, suppressing a yawn. “El come on, we’ve watched three movies in a row and it’s 2:30 in the morning!”

 

Eliot gave the younger magician a look.

 

“You don’t have a Patrick Swayze movie marathon without watching _Dirty Dancing_ , Quentin. You just don’t!”

 

“You just don’t.” Margo agreed. Quentin groaned and rested his head on the arm of the couch as Eliot put the DVD in. Margo watched, pouring herself another glass of wine.

 

_In for a penny in for a pound, Margo_. She told herself. _If this is Eliot’s low-key way of trying to seduce Quentin into couch cuddles and then what comes after, then you have to be supportive. I just hope the fucking wine holds out._ She settled back as the first notes of “Be My Baby” began to play. Eliot sat between her and Quentin, casting furtive glances at the other boy, waiting for the right moment to put a hand on his leg, maybe, or slip an arm around him. Unfortunately, Eliot’s experience told him that Quentin was completely unaware of his feelings and might not even recognize a move if he tried one. For his part, Quentin vainly tried to keep his eyes open as the movie played on, but the wine and the lateness of the hour worked against him and eventually he slept. He slept, and he dreamed.

 

___________________________

 

_It was the summer I turned 18, when everybody called me Quenny and it didn’t occur to me to mind. It was before I learned magic, when I couldn’t wait to go to college—Columbia—when I was still best friends with my childhood playmate Julia, and I thought I’d never know a greater guy than my dad._

_It was also the summer my dad took me and Julia to Brakebills Resort._

“Check it out, you kids, there it is!”

 

Quentin glanced up from his Fillory book to see Brakebills Resort, a getaway for magical adepts, loom out of the mountains as his father’s car climbed a hill in Upstate New York. Next to him, Julia barely lowered her sunglasses before she went back to leafing through a college catalogue.

 

“Finally! I thought we’d never get there.” She sighed as Quentin’s father, Jack, turned down a narrow dirt road and into the wide lot of the resort. Quentin slipped the book into his brown leather messenger bag before he got out of the car and watched a jovial-looking black man in a natty suit approach them.

 

“Jack!” He called, and Quentin’s father turned. The men shook hands.

 

“Henry, good to see you!”

 

“After all these years, I finally got you up on my mountain!” Henry Fogg laughed as he wrung Jack’s hand and smiled at Quentin and Julia. “Now listen . . . you are all my special guests, and I want you to know you’ll get nothing but the best! Come on—I want you to see your cabin and everything else we have to offer!” Henry waved a hand and the family’s luggage rose into the air. Quentin watched, smiling. While his father knew some magic, he’d never developed his abilities and chose to pursue a medical degree instead, and Quentin’s own skills were extremely limited. Julia, who came from a family of professional magicians, scoffed and walked off toward the main house on her own. Jack smiled and put his arm around Quentin’s shoulders.

 

“Come on pal. Let’s go see our cabin!”

 

______________________________________

 

_Four hours later_

 

“Dad? I’m going up to the main house to look around!” Quentin called over his shoulder as he left the cabin in plaid shorts and a plain dark green tee. He walked down the cobblestone path and turned toward the main house, but then laughter and music caught his attention from the other direction. He took a few steps that way, and then a hand fell on his shoulder. He gasped and turned to see a girl with dark, curly hair and flaring green eyes staring at him.

 

“You’re going the wrong way. Guest events are that way.” She nodded toward the main house. A box full of fruit—a big watermelon and some apples and oranges—floated next to her. Quentin cut his eyes toward the other building.

 

“What’s over there?” He asked, and the girl tilted her chin upward as her eyes narrowed, looking him up and down.

 

“Wouldn’t interest you. Why don’t you go to the main house, learn to fox trot?” She scowled as the boxes stopped glowing and clattered to the ground. “Shit, I’m beat—all right, can you keep a secret?” She asked, and Quentin nodded.

 

“Sure.”

 

“All right. Here, take this—” She handed him the watermelon. “Follow me. I’m Kady by the way.”

 

“Quentin. But my family calls me Quenny.”

 

“Sorry to hear that. Come on.” Kady led Quentin down a path to a building pulsing with music. She turned and bumped the door open with her ass and the air seemed to explode with laughter, music, magic, and the swirl of two dozen couples or more dancing. Quentin juggled the melon and someone grabbed it with a shout of thanks. Quentin took a few steps into the room, the hair on his arms and the back of his neck standing up from the magical energy. Young couples were dancing chest to chest, groin to groin, levitating off the floor as their hands roamed over their partner’s body. Others gyrated in midair, but all this served as a backdrop for what now riveted Quentin’s attention—in the center of room, a tall, slender man a few years his senior danced with a petite brunette girl. They moved against each other step for step, the man’s dark curls falling into his eyes before he flicked them back, his long legs and slim hips moving with what looked like effortless grace. The brunette moved with him, looking up into his eyes. Despite their difference in height, they were somehow perfectly matched. Kady came to stand next to him.

 

“They’re amazing, aren’t they? You’d think they were a couple.”

 

“They’re not?”

 

“Nah. All they do is dance together. They come here every summer to sell dance lessons and to keep the guests happy. Eliot prefers another type of partner otherwise.”

 

“Eliot.” Quentin echoed, and the tall dancer glanced in their direction before leaping to Kady’s side, nearly treading on her toes. She scowled at him and he flicked a glance at Quentin.

 

“Hey. Who’s this? What’s he doing here?”

 

“He’s cool Eliot, he was helping out.” Kady said, and Quentin felt his heart stutter as Eliot’s eyes, the color of unstrained honey, turned to him.

 

“I carried a watermelon!” He blurted, and Eliot’s eyes tipped to Kady’s in cool amusement before he returned to the dance floor. Quentin ran a hand over his face.

 

“I carried a watermelon?” He muttered. A new song started, something urgent and thumping, and Quentin watched, transfixed, as Eliot strode forward and crooked a finger at him. Quentin’s heart gave a hard slam and he managed to shake his head, but Eliot snagged his wrist and pulled him out onto the dance floor anyway. Quentin stumbled but Eliot’s arms went around his waist, rocking him in one direction and then the other. His big hands ghosted around Quentin’s hips, his chest, his shoulders, before that magical energy lit up all around him and he spun like a top. He gasped, closing his eyes, before Eliot’s arms enveloped him and pulled him close. Their groins touched and Eliot’s left hand slipped under Quentin’s chin, lifting it until their eyes met. Quentin felt his Adam’s apple bob and heat bloomed in his cheeks. He began to speak and then Eliot spun him away as the song ended and he vanished into the crowd. Quentin staggered slightly, applauding along with the rest of the dancers, his skin alive with energy where Eliot had touched it.

 

______________________________

 

 

The following evening, Quentin found himself at the main house being introduced to Henry’s protégé, Josh Hoberman. The smug young magician leeched onto Quentin instantly, despite Quentin’s excuses and attempts to escape. Just as Quentin formed another plan to give Josh the slip and go find Eliot, Henry spoke up.

 

“Why don’t you boys take a walk down to the lake? It’s a fine night.”

 

“Oh. Uhm, I don’t—” Quentin began, and Jack patted his shoulder.

 

“I’m sure Quenny would love that! Wouldn’t you, son?” He asked, and Quentin fumbled for an answer. Josh grinned.

 

“Well all right! Come on kid . . . let me show you _my_ Brakebills!” He put a hand on Quentin’s shoulder and led him away. Josh kept up a line of braggadocio the entire way, mostly connected with his magical pedigree, and Quentin nodded in all the right places. As they reached the water, Quentin spotted Julia emerge from a copse of trees with a ginger-haired man of medium height. Quentin recognized him as one of the waiters from the dining room, the one who’d complimented Julia at breakfast that morning. Richard, Henry had called him. Julia was pushing him away and Richard was adjusting his belt and calling her a tease. Josh sighed.

 

“Bummer we had to see that.” He reached up and touched Quentin’s hair. “Sometimes, even in the magical world, we see things we don’t want to see.” Then he brightened. “Come on . . . let’s go to the kitchen. I’ve got a serious case of the munchies!”

 

Quentin followed Josh back up to the main house and then into the big prep kitchen, where Josh opened the fridge.

 

“You can have anything you want, dude, it’s my treat! Let’s see, pickles, Jello, hard boiled eggs, potato salad . . .”

 

Quentin rolled his eyes and then turned as a small sound caught his attention. He took a step forward, cocking his head, and saw that someone was sitting in the corner, hidden in the shadows. He squinted, half-listening to Josh ramble on, and finally recognized Eliot Waugh’s dancing partner Margo. She was shaking and tearful, and Quentin put himself directly in Josh’s line of sight as he turned from the fridge.

 

“Actually, Josh, I really should go check on Julia. She looked kind of upset. Can you go let my dad know I’m heading back to the cabin? I think he’s playing poker with Henry.”

 

“Sure, kid sure! We’ll hook up later?” He asked, and Quentin nodded.

 

“Yeah, later.”

 

Josh pointed at him with both index fingers and winked before leaving the room, and Quentin ran to find Kady. He found her at the big dance gazebo, where Eliot and the other dancers were entertaining the guests. After a few rounds of urgent whispering and ducking a glare from Mrs. Lipson, an older woman who always requested Eliot as her partner when he taught lessons, Quentin found himself following Eliot and Kady across the freshly-mowed lawn and toward the back door of the prep kitchen.

 

“She’s damn lucky Josh didn’t spot her,” Kady was saying as the three of them hurried along.

 

“Margo just doesn’t think!” Eliot replied.

 

“What’s wrong with her?” Quentin asked.

 

“She’s knocked up, Quenny.”

 

“Kady!” Eliot snapped, and Quentin glanced over at Eliot.

 

“Well . . . what’s he going to do about it?”

 

Eliot scoffed as he pushed the back door of the prep kitchen open.

 

“Oh it’s mine, of course. Right away, you think it’s mine.” He scowled, and Quentin tried to stammer out a reply as they went to Margo. As he crouched down, Eliot’s demeanor changed instantly and he gathered the sobbing girl into his arms.

 

“It’s all right . . . it’s okay, Bambi. Shhh, Eliot’s here . . . I’ve got you, it’s all right.” He held her against his chest as Kady pushed the door open and acted as lookout until they reached the dancers’ quarters. Quentin tagged along as they reached Margo’s room and Eliot gently laid her down on the bed.

 

“What were you thinking?” Eliot asked her. “Didn’t I tell you, if you’re in trouble, you come to me?”

 

“You can’t help me with this, El!” Margo wiped her face hard with both hands. “It’s $200! I know you don’t have it and neither do I! God . . .” She sniffled. “It’s hopeless!”

 

“Don’t say that! I know things look bad, but . . .” Quentin stepped forward. “There must be something we can do!”

 

“Margo glared up at him. “And who the hell are you, exactly, other than someone who doesn’t know dick about my problem?”

 

“I sort of told him.” Kady sighed, and Margo rolled her eyes.

 

“Oh good job, Kady! Now he’s gonna run to Hoberman and we all get shitcanned!”

 

“I won’t, I swear! My dad made me hang out with him!” Quentin protested, and Margo rolled her eyes.

 

“Like I give a shit! Go suck the bossman’s dick for all I care, _Quenny_.” She spat the name at him and Kady frowned.

 

“He’s cool, he won’t go to Hoberman or Fogg!”

 

“Right . . . why don’t we just put it on billboard? Margo got knocked up by Richard, aka the King of the Dicks!”

 

“Richard?” Quentin blinked, and Kady pulled him aside as Eliot glared at them both.

 

“I can get her a doctor’s appointment, but it’s $200, cash only.” She said. Quentin chewed on his lower lip and glanced back over at Margo, who was sobbing softly against Eliot’s chest as he stroked her hair.

 

“I think I might be able to help.”

 

____________________________________

 

 

It took some maneuvering, as well as begging Julia to cover for him in order to get away from his father and from the prying eyes of Josh Hoberman, but Quentin managed it the following evening and made his way to the dancer’s quarters, the front pocket of his jeans stuffed with cash he’d borrowed from his father. He opened the door and peeked in to see couples paired off all over the room and then spied Margo and Eliot, their arms around each other, Margo’s face buried in his chest as they danced. Quentin hesitated then gathered his courage to walk out onto the dance floor and tap Eliot’s shoulder. Eliot turned, his initially annoyed expression morphing into disbelief as Quentin dug into his pocket and handed him the money.

 

“$200. Now you can see the doctor.” He said to Margo, who blinked up at Eliot.

 

“Is this fucking kid for real or what?” She asked. Eliot sighed and rolled his eyes as Kady came over to join them.

 

“Real enough to go to daddy.” He drawled, and Margo shook her head.

 

“I appreciate it kid, but I can’t use it.”

 

“How come?”

 

“I can only get her in on Thursday night, and that’s the night she and Eliot perform their Magic Mambo number over at The Cottage Club.” Kady explained, and Quentin tucked a lock of hair behind his left ear.

 

“Well—can’t someone else fill in?”

 

Eliot lit a cigarette and exhaled the smoke in a way that suggested he was exhausted with the entire conversation.

 

“No, Little Mr. Fix-It, they can’t! It’s a magic-based routine, it’s difficult to learn, and none of the other dancers have time! In case you haven’t noticed, we all work for a living!” He smirked down at Quentin. “What . . . do you want to do it? Take time out from charades and Sunday brunch with Fogg?”

 

Kady lifted a shoulder.

 

“That’s not a horrible idea . . .”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Kady, it was a joke!” Eliot snapped, and Kady tipped a glance at Quentin.

 

“He can move.”

 

Margo gripped Eliot’s hand.

 

“El, please, we have to try. And you’re a strong partner, I know you could lead him! Please, for me?” She asked, and Eliot jetted smoke from his nose as he looked down at Quentin.

 

“All right, Bambi. For you.”

 

_______________________________________________

 

Over the next three days, Quentin found himself immersed in learning dance magic under the experienced and often impatient hand of Eliot Waugh. Quentin both conspired with and blackmailed Julia, who was seeing Richard in secret, in order to keep his father, Josh, and Henry Fogg from finding out his whereabouts. He and Eliot practiced in the dance quarters, in Margo’s room, in the hall where Eliot gave dance lessons, and any place else they could do so without being seen. Margo helped by teaching Quentin the basics of magic, something he’d never been taught, but by the end of the week he could perform the basic spells needed for the Magic Mambo act—all but one. The most difficult part of the act, called Cassle’s Lift, required Quentin to make himself weightless so Eliot could lift him telekinetically and hold him with just his fingertips. It seemed like an impossible spell to master, and after a frustrating morning and a bloody nose for Quentin due to a bad landing during one of the tries, Eliot suggested they go to the lake and practice in the water.

 

“We’ll have to readjust the spell slightly because of the water element.” Eliot explained as he stood hip-deep in the cool lake water. Quentin tried not to stare at his lean, pale chest, or the way his pecs were coated with a fine spray of dark hair. “But that shouldn’t be too difficult—Quenny? Are you listening?” He asked, and Quentin nodded.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“All right then . . . come at me, come on!” Eliot instructed, and Quentin leapt forward, casting the spell as Eliot matched it with his telekinesis. Quentin felt the two merge and his body quivered with energy as he was lifted upward. Eliot balanced him on his fingertips, nodding.

 

“Good, good . . . focus, Quenny, don’t break the position—aggh!” Eliot shouted as they overbalanced and plunged into the water. Quentin popped back up, sputtering and laughing. Eliot surfaced a moment later, spitting water. He eyed his partner.

 

“All right, that wasn’t bad.” He allowed. Quentin grinned up at him, and Eliot reached out to push back Quentin’s sopping hair. “Let’s try it again.”

 

“Are you sure I’m going to be ready in time? The performance is in five hours, Eliot . . . I’m so scared I’ll fuck it up for you!”

 

“You aren’t going to fuck anything up. You’ve got the moves down, Margo has your costume ready . . .” Eliot’s hand lingered in Quentin’s hair. “You’ll be great, Quenny. You’ve worked really hard and you’ll be great. Now come on.” He spun away and raised his hands to cast. “Cassle’s Lift—one more time!”

 

_______________________________________

 

Whether it was luck, Eliot’s ability to lead almost any partner, or magic, the Magic Mambo act at the Cottage Club went off with barely a hitch that evening. Afterward, Quentin struggled out of his outfit in the back of Eliot’s car as they made their way back to Brakebills.

 

“You did wonderfully, Quenny. Really, I’m very proud of you!” Eliot said, his eyes wandering back repeatedly to the rearview mirror as he watched flashes of Quentin’s bare skin flash in and out of view—his pale shoulders, his small, dark nipples, a lean thigh.

 

“I guess so? I didn’t do Cassle’s Lift though, and I really thought I had the spell down!”

 

“That’s okay . . . you recovered just fine.” Eliot smirked as he recalled how Quentin had leapt into the air, only to land awkwardly in a crouch before doing some kind of finger pointing dance move before Eliot moved him back into the routine. Quentin joined him in the front seat a moment later, dressed in his usual jeans and sweater, and Eliot cleared his throat. “You should be proud of yourself.” He said as they turned down the road that led to Brakebills.

 

“I am, I just—” Quentin sat up as they pulled up in front of the dancers’ quarters and Kady jumped up from a chair on the porch. The headlights illuminated her pale, frightened face and Quentin grabbed Eliot’s arm. “El, look!”

 

Eliot threw the car into park and killed the engine as Kady yanked the driver’s side door open.

 

“It’s bad.” She said, “It’s real bad, you have to come see her!” She pulled him toward the adjoining cabins and into Margo’s room. Some of the dancers stood around her bed, most of them looking scared as she sobbed and writhed in pain. Eliot went to her bedside and looked up at Kady.

 

“What the fuck happened?”

 

“I’m sorry Eliot! They wouldn’t let me stay with her!”

 

“I thought you said she’d be seeing a doctor!”

 

“He was a hedge witch with a dirty knife and a folding table!” Kady put a hand to her mouth as Margo screamed in pain and Eliot stroked her hair, his amber eyes flicking over her form but finding no avenue to ease it. Quentin turned and ran from the room, anxiety blooming in his chest as he pelted up the path to his family’s cabin. The rooms were dark and Quentin knocked on his father’s door before pushing it open. Jack snorted awake, blinking, and Quentin tugged on his hand.

 

“Dad, come on, I need your help, please!”

 

“Quenny? What’s going on?” Jack asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and Quentin tugged at him until he got up and pulled on a robe over his pajamas. Quentin picked up his doctor’s bag from the corner.

 

“I can’t tell you . . . please, just come on!” He led his father outside and down the path to the dancers’ cabins. Jack frowned when he saw Margo and glanced around the room.

 

“Everyone clear out of here.” He said as he sat down next to Margo and opened his bag. “Who’s responsible for this girl?”

 

“I—I am.” Eliot spoke up, and Jack gave him a withering look before his expression eased and he comforted Margo as he treated her. Quentin put a hand on Eliot’s shoulder.

 

“El . . . let’s go outside.” He said, and Eliot nodded. He allowed Quentin to lead him to the porch, where he smoked cigarette after cigarette until Quentin’s dad came out. Kady stepped forward.

 

“Will she be all right?”

 

“Yes, I think so. She’s out of the woods now.” He said, and Kady offered her hand. He shook it.

 

“Thank you, Dr. Coldwater.” Kady said.

 

“Dr. Coldwater, thank you—” Eliot began to say, but Jack pushed past him as he put a firm hand on Quentin’s shoulder and herded him back toward the guest cabins, his expression set. Quentin looked over his shoulder.

 

“Dad—”

 

“Is that what my money paid for?”

 

“Dad, you don’t understand—”

 

“Oh, I think I do! You aren’t the person I thought you were, Quenny. Pack up your things and tell Julia to do the same—we’re leaving first thing in the morning!”

 

Jack slammed into their cabin and shut his bedroom door, leaving Quentin to stand there in the dark. He wiped a hand over his mouth and glanced out the window as heat lightning flickered in the distance and thunder began to roll over the mountain. A moment later, he was out the front door without bothering to close it. The rising wind swung it back and forth as he vanished down the hill toward the dancers’ quarters.

 

_______________________________________

 

 

“What are you doing here?” Eliot asked as he stood in the doorway of his room. Quentin stared up at him.

 

“I had to see you. I wanted to explain about my father—”

 

“You don’t have to explain. And it doesn’t matter. I’ll be out on my ass for this, Quenny.”

 

“They can’t fire you!”

 

“They can, and they will, for sure.” He stepped back and then turned, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He lit one as Quentin followed him into his room. It was studio style with a bed, a chair, and a small dresser. A turntable played on the windowsill and Quentin shook his head as he moved toward it.

 

“Leave it on.” He took a deep breath. “My dad had no right to treat you the way he did.”

 

“You’re wrong there. He treated me like nothing because I am nothing, Quenny. I’m magical trash and he can see it.”

 

“Nothing?” Quentin stepped forward. “Nothing! You—you’re everything! You . . .” He stepped close and looked into Eliot’s startled eyes. “I’m the one who can’t face the truth about things! You said it before . . . I run to daddy whenever something bad happens!”

 

“It took courage to go him!” Eliot looked down at him. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met, Quenny!”

 

“Brave? Are you kidding me? I’m scared—I’m scared of everything! Of who I am, and what I saw . . . and I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my life, the way I feel when I’m with you!” Quentin slid his hands up Eliot’s long arms. “Dance with me, El. Please.”

 

Eliot closed his eyes and his long arms enfolded Quentin’s smaller frame, as it had on the dance floor that first night they’d met. They swayed one way, then the other, and then Eliot’s clever fingers found the hem of Quentin’s sweater and tugged upward. Quentin raised his arms, shivering, and the next turn found him against the rough-planked wall, Eliot’s hands sliding up his chest. He arched against Eliot’s groin, groaning, feeling an answering press there. Eliot lifted Quentin’s hands and pinned them over his head with both hands as Eliot’s hips swung in a steady pattern and his lips claimed Quentin’s. Quentin whimpered and shuddered as Eliot ground against him and tears fell from his eyes, hot and helpless, as rain began to spatter against the windows and he came with a partner for the first time in his life.

 

_____________________________________________

 

Quentin left Eliot’s room before dawn to sneak back to his own cabin only to find his father and Henry Fogg there waiting for him. Quentin’s father ordered him to his room to pack, but Henry managed to placate him into staying for the final event of the season by promising to fire Eliot and to have him off the property by the time the sun set. Julia, having been jilted by Richard, came to Quentin’s room to comfort him, and the two licked their emotional wounds together. That evening, Jack ordered them to dress up and they went to the main house together, where Quentin retreated to the chair closest to the wall once Henry offered them a table. He sat and watched the talent show without much interest, the whole experience seeming empty without Eliot’s presence. A mild commotion started somewhere in the back of the room, and then Quentin’s father was looking up in shock as a shadow fell over him.

 

“You!”

 

Quentin’s heart jittered.

 

“Eliot?” He breathed, and the tall, lithe dancer lifted his dimpled chin.

 

“Nobody puts Quenny in a corner.” He declared before reaching over to take his hand and pull him away from the table. Jack stood, trembling with anger, but Julia touched his hand.

 

“It’s okay Mr. Coldwater. Please . . .” She said, and Jack took a deep breath before he sat back down. Eliot jumped up onto the stage, Quentin’s hand in his, and looked out over the shocked audience.

 

“Sorry for the disruption, folks.” He said. “But I always do the last dance of the season. This year, someone told me not to. So I’m going to do my kind of dancing with a great partner who’s not only a terrific dancer, but someone who’s taught me that there are people willing to stand up for other people no matter what it costs them. Somebody who's taught me about the kind of person I want to be. Mr. Quentin Coldwater.” He turned to Quentin and then backed away as Kady put a song on for them in the back of the room. Quentin stepped forward and took Eliot’s hand and he spun Quentin a slow circle before pulling him in close, his hands sliding around his hips and shoulders. He spun away, backed up, and Quentin grinned and ran at him as he cast Cassle’s Lift. Eliot’s cast was perfectly timed and the room lit up with their shared magic and with cheers and whoops from the crowd, including Quentin’s father. Quentin spread his arms out and reveled in the sensation and in the feel of Eliot’s presence. People chanted his name—his true name—and his heart soared.

 

“Quentin, Quentin, Quentin—”

 

Quentin? Quentin!”

 

Quentin jerked awake and blinked to see Eliot standing over him. On the TV, the credits for _Dirty Dancing_ were rolling and Margo was gone, having given up the marathon’s ghost after Quentin had nodded off. He sat up and stretched.

 

“El . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He glanced at the television. “Did you watch the whole thing by yourself?”

 

“I did. Because you simply don’t have a Patrick Swayze movie marathon—”

 

“Without watching _Dirty Dancing_.” Quentin finished with him. “Right.”

 

Eliot nodded and turned away to gather up the bowls and empty bottles of wine. Quentin watched, his dream fading but somehow insistent, illuminating something that his waking mind had never puzzled out on its own.

 

_Fuck_ , he thought to himself. _That’s what this was. A chance for us to become something we’ve never been before. And I fell asleep_. Quentin pushed his hair back, the soundtrack of his dream coming back to him. He shut the DVD off, flipped through the menu, and started the movie from the beginning. Eliot turned as the opening notes of “Be My Baby” began to play.

 

“You can turn that . . . off . . .” Eliot stared at Quentin as his friend approached until they stood nearly toe to toe. “Quentin . . . ?”

 

“The night we met I knew I needed you so . .  .” Quentin sang along with the Ronettes. “And if I had the chance I’d never let you go. So won’t you say you love me? I’ll make you so proud of me . . . we’ll make them turn their heads, every place we go . . .” Quentin rose up onto his toes to reach Eliot’s lips with his own as the song continued on its own. Eliot inhaled hard through his nose, a sound of disbelief, and then he was devouring Quentin’s lips with his own, his big hands plunging into Quentin’s long hair, where they tugged and stroked. The two men fell onto the couch together and Eliot pulled Quentin to him, nuzzling and kissing his neck while Quentin played with his hair.

 

“You finally figured it out.” Eliot laughed, sounding a little breathless. “It took you three months and my entire Patrick Swayze movie collection for you to do it, but you finally did, you ridiculous, adorable man.”

 

Quentin lifted Eliot’s chin to kiss him again, knowing he’d never want to stray far from the taste of Eliot’s mouth from this moment on. Eliot broke the kiss a moment later and touched Quentin’s face.

 

“So. You enjoyed the marathon after all?”

 

Quentin leaned into Eliot’s touch and smiled as his skin came alive with the feel of their merged magic.

 

“Had the time of my life.”

 

_FIN_


End file.
